The next morning Amy lingered behind while the others hastened through breakfast and headed for the church. Even April, carrying her baby, went with her husband.
Weeks ago, Aunt Clara had insisted that Amy read the Bible with her. And then she discovered Father seemed to be siding with Aunt Clara.
But the culmination of Amy’s uneasiness came with last night’s sermon. During the night the words had probed her hidden thoughts. The sermon had left one clear impression—she was an old wineskin.
After the door closed behind the Taylors and Father, Amy restlessly paced the floor. She kept coming back to the final words of the presiding elder, wondering why they still rang through her thoughts. You will know God not only as Redeemer, but also as Lord and Friend when you trust Him more than yourself; when His desires are more important than yours. The Holy Spirit will come upon you when your hunger for God exceeds everything else in life. Daniel had used the word desperate.
Last night, for the first time, while she watched those people kneeling at the altar, she had been touched with a strange envy. Those people hungered and thirsted in a way she couldn’t understand.
But even more, the elder had made the clear, flat statement: “‘Neither do men put new wine into old bottles, else the bottles break, and the wine runneth out and the bottles perish: but they put new wine into new bottles and both are preserved.’”
Perish or be preserved. Fearful words, just like the words Aunt Clara used. Yet it wasn’t the words that struck her, but the hunger revealed on the faces of those people reaching out for that something Amy didn’t understand.
Mrs. Cummings came into the room, and Amy saw she was watching her with a knowing look in her eyes. “Aw, you’re feeling poorly. Well, you just rest. The morning is always worse.”
She pulled her shawl across her shoulders and hurried out the door. Amy had just resumed her pacing when Daniel came back into the cabin. She saw the worried frown on his face as he said, “Mrs. Cummings tells me you’re ill.”
Slowly she sat down. Surprisingly her lips were stiff as she said, “No, I just wanted to be alone.”
He hesitated, about to leave; then he abruptly knelt beside her chair and asked, “Wanna tell me about it?”
One part of her was crying, You less than anyone else in the world; at the same time she wanted to throw herself into his arms. Amy settled back and thought of the gnawing inside. The need was bigger than her pride.
“Daniel, have you ever had a problem that confused you until you didn’t know what to do about it?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Well, what did you do about it?”
“I had to settle it myself, but I also needed a helping hand to start me in the right direction. Amy, do you remember the day Pa died, and how you sang to me? You were that helping hand.” He touched her gently. “Do you want me to help you?”
She could only nod as her tears splashed on his hand. He waited, then, “Tell me.”
She took a deep breath and tried to decide where to begin. He decided for her. “Amy, have you ever just plain, flat out told Jesus Christ that you want Him to be your Savior? I know from experience, carrying around a sin problem gets a person down. Our Lord can’t do a thing about it until we believe His promise to us. His Word says that even while we were still dead in our sins, He loved us, and died for us in order that we can be alive in Him.
“See, it is God’s love, grace and kindness in Christ that does all this for us. We only need to believe and accept what God is saying to us.” He looked up and waited.
“You make it sound so simple!” she cried. “Daniel, it isn’t that simple. Confess and get up and go on with life? I’ve tried it. Maybe I don’t have faith.”
“Why?” He waited and finally he said, “Does it go deeper? Are you trying to place limits on the Lord and what you are willing to give Him?”
“I suppose.”
“Shall I help you?”
She nodded her head and slipped to her knees beside the chair. He prompted, “Remember, He is God, and He loves you so much He died in order for you to live forever. We dare not neglect a salvation so great. On top of that, He knows what’s upsetting you. So the work’s half done.”
“Jesus Christ,” she began carefully, “thank you for dying for me. Please forgive my sins. I want you to be my Savior. I—” Her body shook with sobs, but finally she could say; “I really did hate you. But now I can’t. You started to rescue me. But I stopped co-operating with you. Now, I promise, it will be different—the stubborn Amy, the ugliness—my dreams.”
Daniel helped her to stand. Wrapping her in his arms, he said, “Welcome, Amy. You are now my sister in the Lord. For all eternity, we’ll be friends together with Him.”
“Daniel, I must confess. Now I understand my dread of revival. I’ve blamed it all on the past, my fear, thinking it was because I saw my mother die. Now I understand. I’ve been fighting God. I did remember her, but I used that memory to build a wall shutting me away from God.”
He nodded. “I was beginning to wonder about that. I’m grateful you understand.” He hugged her again.
“That isn’t all.” His arms dropped.
He hesitated and then added, “If you want me to listen, I will; if you don’t, that’s all right, now and forever. I give you that promise.”
“I do.” She went to sit down beside the fire, to search through the jumble of feelings, sensing her shame, wondering if it would affect how Daniel felt about her. For a moment she looked at him. Even that must be risked.
“Those verses in Colossians—peace, reconciled to Him, being complete in Jesus Christ. They are things I want. I see I can’t have them until I’m willing to forgive.
“It’s Silverheels. I’ve discovered she’s my mother.” There was a strangled sound from Daniel, nearly a sob. She said slowly, “I know it’s terrible. A dance-hall girl—worse, a madame in a place like that. I am so ashamed, yet—”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I went to see her and we had a terrible time over it. See, I didn’t know until I found my picture in her cloak.”
His arm was warm and protective now. She leaned against him, taking comfort from his nearness.
She told of finding the picture, and then, slowly, painfully, she admitted, “We said horrible things to each other. I don’t know why. At first it seemed good, and then she sent me away. Ordered me out of her life. Said she didn’t want to be bothered by me. I’d ruin her career. She ended up mocking me like I was a worthless, silly baby and I screamed ugly things at her.”
They both were silent, alone in their thoughts. Amy’s emotions had flattened, but one heavy burden remained upon her heart. Finally Daniel sighed and moved away from her. “Do you need to do something?”
Reluctantly she nodded. “It bothers me still. For a time I tried to stay angry with her in order to avoid thinking about it. But—” she shrugged.
“I think you’d better say it.”
“I must tell her I’m sorry, ask her forgiveness, and Daniel, now there’s something else. All of a sudden I feel so responsible. She may be in need. I must help her, even if she doesn’t want me around.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I’ll go. I have enough money to take the stage to Buckskin Joe.”
“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I will try to borrow a buggy from a friend and we can be up there in a few hours’ time.”
He was nearly to the door when he stopped. “Amy, what about your father?”
She blinked. “Well, I don’t think he’ll mind at all. He’s been pushing us together every chance he gets.” Daniel was frowning and Amy whispered, “Oh, that isn’t what you meant—” A new question formed in his eyes, but she turned away from it, asking, “What did you mean?”
“Silverheels.”
“You’re saying I should tell him,” Amy said slowly. This was something she hadn’t considered. She turned from Daniel to pace the floor. “She asked me not to tell him.” Amy caught her breath, added, “She told me she didn’t want Father coming after her.” Amy chewed at her lip and added, “Right now I don’t feel inclined to talk to him about it.” He waited and she added, “Yes, I’ve been angry about that, too. But if you insist, I’ll write a note. That’ll mean we must leave soon, before he comes back.”
“I think it’s important,” Daniel said slowly. “There’s a possibility she’s no longer living, but if she is, your father may need to see her, too. At least, I feel this isn’t something we should hide from him.”
In a moment Amy nodded. “I guess that’s the right thing to do.”
“I’ll go see Mac at the livery stable. Better pack a bag.”
That question flashed in his eyes again, and Amy came to him. “Daniel, you’re not beholden to me for anything. This, us, was all a bad mistake from the beginning. I won’t cling to you.”
“Amy, say no more.” His voice was sharp. “You’re not forcing this upon me. Don’t forget, I’ve got an interest in Silverheels. She’s—worthy because Christ died for her too.” He paused, adding, “As for us, let’s agree to just forget everything for now. Even the fact that we’re married. We could pretend to be strangers, just getting to be friends.”
Amy was trembling as the door closed behind Daniel. She wiped her fingers across her eyes and considered her sore heart. “Daniel’s thinking I prayed like that because I was trying to get him. Never.” As her voice broke in a half sob, the new realization rushed over her.
She cocked her head, beginning now to smile. It was a gentle urge. It had been there before, but she had paid no heed. It was the urge to pray. Just like the elder had said last night. He was Lord and friend now, and He wanted her prayer. Her lips were still soft with the smile as she whispered, “Lord Jesus, thank you for being with me. I really believe in your presence, and that is so good!”
With a sigh she got up to look for the paper and pencil in her bag. When she sat down to write, she had to search for words. It was difficult. The words came out stiff and stilted. “Dear Father. It seems Daniel and I must go to Buckskin Joe immediately. We’ve word that the dance-hall woman they call Silverheels has disappeared. When we return, I’ll tell you all about it, but for now I must say that I’ve discovered Silverheels is my mother. There is no doubt about it. Please don’t worry; Daniel will be there to take care of me.” She signed her name; then with a touch of irony in her voice, she said, “He’ll be there to take care of me—whether or not he likes it.”
Daniel came in. “Ready? I’ll get my bag. Where’s your blanket roll? If we go to Father Dyer’s, we’ll need it.”
“I guessed that.” She picked up her bag, adding, “I’ve left the note on the table. Mrs. Cummings will see he gets it.”
It was only ten o’clock in the morning, but the streets of Denver City were filled with people, animals, and every kind of conveyance possible. When they reached the business district, they found a group of Indians parading slowly through the center of town. Fascinated, Amy watched them, caught by their stoic dignity. She studied their colorful warbonnets and ceremonial dress, and shivered.
“Daniel,” she murmured, “they act as if this parade is of deep significance to them, and look at the people around them. It’s as if the settlers don’t know they’re here. Do you suppose they are planning a fight?”
“Arapahoes,” Daniel said, shaking his head as he watched the Indians. “See the women’s horses dragging the tepee poles? Those cross bars are added to carry children and baggage. The contraption is called a travois. It’s an efficient way to travel if you don’t have wheels.”
“The beadwork on that woman’s blouse is beautiful,” Amy murmured.
“From the way they are dressed, and the presence of the women and children, I get the feeling they’re headed up South Park, the same way we’re going. Just might be there’s a squabble in the making. I’ve heard the Utes have been drifting into the territory for several weeks.”
“Is there a danger?”
“To us? I don’t think so,” Daniel answered. “For the most part, the Arapahoes have treated us better than we have them.”
“April says her husband, James, has been attempting to make friends with them.” She added, “April doesn’t seem to mind being left alone, even with the Indians around.”
Daniel gave her a quick glance, and Amy wondered why he smiled.
They left town and started into the foothills. The horses were pulling the light carriage easily, and Daniel was pleased. “Good team. At this rate we’ll be in Fairplay before sundown.” He snapped the reins across the horses’ backs. “I wouldn’t mind having a rig like this. It would make traveling more pleasant, but then, I don’t have a need for such. Maybe someday.”
Someday. Amy considered the word. There was promise, and perhaps a hint of yearning in the way he said it. She glanced at him, and he looked back with a grin.
“What makes you so happy?” She asked curiously.
“The day and having company. It’s unusual. I’ve traveled a lot of miles in the last six months, but few spent with company. I like this.”
She found herself beaming back at him, feeling as giddy as a child over the unexpected holiday. But then the burden of the trip fell and she settled into her shawl, mulling over the emotions that alternately left her curious and angry. So the people at Buckskin tried to pay Silverheels. What could have happened to her? It seems everyone in the territory knows about Silverheels.
She examined the situation and tried to feel proud, but all those other emotions churned. Amy looked at Daniel’s relaxed grin and felt her heart sink. How badly she wished to be back in Denver City! She searched for something to say, a way to make him talk.
She toyed with the idea of telling Daniel of her experience this morning. For the first time God was a sweet, comforting presence. Good, not fearful. Would he understand? After a moment of studying his face, she was satisfied he would, yet she was caught, remembering his expression when she had foolishly misunderstood him.
Her cheeks were burning. As her hands tightened into fists, she vowed that she would never throw herself at him again.
“Daniel.” She took a deep breath, disliking the timid waver in her voice. “You said something about being friends. That would help; I wouldn’t feel so—”
He glanced quickly. “Amy, I’ve never wanted you to feel that way.”
“What way?”
“Weren’t you going to say pressured?” She nodded, and he asked, “How would you want a friend to act?”
“So friendly that he’d accept me no matter what I thought or said.”
“About people like Silverheels and Lizzie? About wanting to play the piano even when Aunt Maude and the Methodists think it’s the devil’s invention?”
She winced. “Piano. I suppose that’ll be one of the things I’ll need to give up. Surrender it at the feet of Jesus, as Aunt Clara would say.”
“Would you mind?”
“Too much.”
They rode in silence and then Amy added, “This is an ugly thing, from beginning to end.” She looked at him and added, “Nice families just don’t have mothers who are prostitutes.”
He looked at her. “Prostitutes are people Jesus loves too.”
In a moment she added, “I’ll go. Do what must be done and then be gone forever.”
“Forever? Amy, how will you feel if you find a sick woman who must have you in order to survive?”
She considered all the implications of his statement. He was testing her confession of Christianity. Yet, she looked at him, thinking, It’s as if he’s testing himself. Dance-hall woman. Mother. And now, mother-in-law. That’s what she would be to Daniel.
Poor Daniel. She considered what his life had become since she had stepped into it in her bumbling, willful way. Amy sighed heavily. I’m ashamed. How’ll the mess ever be righted?
“Say it.”
“You’ll have a prostitute for a mother-in-law.”
He grinned at her. “You forget, we’re just friends.”
She leaned forward and touched his sleeve. “Be serious, Daniel. Have you considered what this will do to your future?”
“I just realized it. It would make good copy, wouldn’t it? Dance-hall woman accepts Christ and admits she’s the mother-in-law of the famous Colorado Territory missionary for the Methodist Episcopal Church.”
Amy was still looking at Daniel as she said, “It’s a good thing you said ‘famous’—otherwise I would have been a friend and pushed you off the seat.”
He winced. “Amy, we really don’t know each other very well, do we?”
“No.” The words were coming almost against her will. “And I’m afraid we’ll know each other too well before this trip is over.”
“Afraid? You don’t like the idea?”
She considered herself. She was fearful of all the untried places in her life—untried since the decision this morning. How dare she trust herself after failing so miserably before? She felt the smile disappear from her face. I don’t trust myself. I love Daniel too much to let him see the real Amy. “No, I don’t.” He looked surprised, but said no more.